a thousand can love me
that is not a cure for loneliness
it rages beneath my skin
until someone can understand me

my hands won't still
and i'm covered in uncomfortable heat
i'll be set off by the quietest trill
some dark punching beat
it will soundtrack me
chewed nails can't comb my damp hair
slick with sweat from a lark unfree
wrapped in sheets, i still feel bare
every fear trickles to my feet
a tremble, by doubt marbling my blood
nervous laughter sickly sweet
i'm such a deadly flood

i long for damp gold tears
from the dying trees
for me to inhale the summer's death
and exhale the winter's birth
when the air is hangs low with drowsiness
and cinnamon settles in the wind
what more can i want-
than cold nose and warm chest-
so loosely wrapped in ochre wool?

when my eyes close under weary stars
i see a field flooded with dawn
my feet tickled with dew-pearls
and surrounded by delicate fawn
i see not the bitter tragedy
that strikes my open eyes
just the peaceful grazing
i could only hope to memorize

twelve strikes calls the river
to run on the peach silk beds
to pool on white cotton covers
one strike calls the gut-punching
the anger and the screaming
to burn the sins of the day before
two strikes calls the dark haze
slowly beckoned
by the tiring tirade against my soul
three cents to bet
that i might wake up the next day

this heart is so dead cold
running from place to place
burning lovers like hotel matchbooks
toss them in the building fire
it's my funeral pyre

words run like a river
from corners of my lips
they run into rocks and trees
of the people before me
but they're just people
they do not understand
the whispering words of a river
all they hear is the constant mumbling
and incoherent cries